


Radio Silence

by under_a_grey_cloud



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean Winchester, M/M, Sad Castiel, Sad Dean Winchester, Sad Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-06-04 18:51:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6670654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_a_grey_cloud/pseuds/under_a_grey_cloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael wants Castiel to join him in Heaven on a mission to annihilate Earth and start anew.</p><p>Castiel hangs up in disgust.</p><p>Dean finally professes his love for Castiel.</p><p>Castiel runs away in desperation.</p><p>Sam and Dean demand an explanation.</p><p>They wish they hadn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Basement and Rats

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short WIP which I wrote to try to kick myself out of writer's block. I'm not sure if I succeeded or if this was a temporary remission.
> 
> Some very perceptive readers pointed out some problems which I hope to address in Radio Silence 2.0. Or a better title if I can think of one. I'll indicate what's new so no one has to slog through the whole story twice.
> 
> **WARNING: This is not a fun or fluffy story. I am writing from the heart, and my heart is somewhat broken. PLEASE DON'T READ IF YOU ONLY LIKE HAPPY ENDINGS.**
> 
> Please comment on what works and what doesn't work. If I do add some chapters, I'd love your input on what you all would like to see. You can comment after the end if you are so inclined. AO3 is a community; we're here not just here to write but to help each other? So any constructive criticism short of "this stinks; throw it in the shredder" is welcome.
> 
> Thank you.

“CASTIEL!”

Castiel sat alone in the dark in the basement of the bunker. A single light bulb mounted on the ceiling cast a faint sickly yellow glow, which primarily illuminated the peeling plaster. He’d only recently discovered that such a room existed; that such a room even could exist. The entire bunker was a basement. He imagined a never-ending flight of stars, each leading to a lower level basement, which made him think of both Heaven and Hell. He felt no need to look for deeper basements. He had all that he needed.

“CASTIEEEELLLLL!!!! TALK TO ME!”

“Hello, Michael,” he said with a dull weariness.

“You are very hard to contact,” Michael reprimanded.

“I turned off angel radio for a reason,” Castiel replied with as close to anger as was allowed in addressing an archangel.

“Well turn it back on again. You are needed in Heaven.”

“No thank you,” Castiel answered, taking in his dank, windowless surroundings, thinking of the radiant beauty of Heaven and the deceit of the angels who lived there. “I prefer to stay on Earth.”

“This is not about your preference,” Michael nearly spat. Angel hierarchy did not prevent archangels from being rude to angels of lower rank, though they were generally polite. “Your presence is required. Must you always insist on being so petulant?”

Castiel sighed. “Why do you think I turned off angel radio?” he asked. “Shall I spell it out for you? I. Don’t. Care.”

“Be careful, Castiel,” Michael replied. “You are bordering on insubordination. You know the punishment for that infraction.”

Silence.

“As usual you are thinking only of yourself,” Michael continued. “We are strategizing as I speak. I have wasted far too much time talking to you already.”

“Then stop,” replied Castiel.

Michael sighed.

“Earth and its humans have caused enough dissonance in the universe. You and your Winchesters have a way of blocking or undoing our attempts to cleanse life on Earth. We have decided to eliminate the planet altogether. As you know, your mistakes have thinned our ranks considerably. We need every angel’s participation. Every angel. Including you, Castiel,” Michael said, pointedly.

“No thank you. I would rather be destroyed with the Earth than help destroy it.” In fact, the thought offered a modicum of comfort.

“Did you not listen to me?” said Michael, trying not to sound as angry as he felt. “This is not a request. It is a demand. Your experience with humanity makes you an invaluable asset to us. You can help us decide exactly how and when to destroy the planet without being thwarted by the inhabitants.

“No.”

“You are commanded to appear. Now.”

“By who? Our absentee Father?”

“By me.”

As an archangel, Michael had the power to make such a demand in the absence of God. Castiel knew this, but he didn’t care. He kicked a piece of fallen plaster toward the wall. It fell short. He kicked another piece, harder, and it smashed a hole in the unfinished basement wall. The satisfaction was small but rewarding nonetheless.

“Brother,” he said, with a mixture of respect and resignation. “My time in Heaven is over. I feel no need for obedience to a Father who has disappeared for a very long time and shows no sign of returning.”

Castiel heard Michael seethe with fury as he attempted to prepare a suitable response. 

“I switched off angel radio because I want no more of the hypocrisy of angels. I prefer the hypocrisy of men,” Castiel repeated.

“And what leads you to believe that is your decision to make?”

“Me,” answered Castiel, and abruptly severed the connection. He squatted on the floor and held his head in his hands. Thought he did not regret his decision, he still felt the pain of refusing to follow the command of his Brother, He had never approved of Michael’s blind obedience, yet he had never stopped loving him. Michael was an archangel, appointed by God to take over Heaven in His absence, and as a mere seraph himself, Castiel had no right to rebel. 

He didn’t care. He felt a sudden sharp longing to see the sky. He’d been hiding out in the basement for so long he had no idea if it was day or night. He’d rather look at the night sky, but being warmed by the sun would be acceptable, as would being drenched by rain. Either going outside or upstairs to the attic window held the risk of running into Dean. So he sat and stared at the concrete ceiling. 

A large rat scurried to Castiel’s feet and stopped, looking up with expectation. Castiel had taken to feeding his neighbors in the basement, and this particular rat had become a pet of sorts. Castiel felt around in his pockets and found a reasonably large piece of stale bread. He broke off a piece and offered it to the rat, who sat and held it with both hands, nibbling so quickly the bread was neatly dispatched. Castiel never tired of watching the rat’s efficient feeding. He saw an undeniable resemblance to a human eating a sandwich. Dean eating a cheeseburger. In the kitchen, a flight of stairs and a world away.

The rat looked into Castiel’s eyes for more. 

“Sorry,” he said. “You need to save the rest for later.” Days ago he had silently climbed the stairs, listened with his acute angel hearing, and heard snoring from two sources, annoyingly out of sync. He grabbed a loaf of bread and descended back downstairs. As an angel, he had no need of sustenance; he consumed food and drink simply for fun. Drinking coffee and beer, or eating honey sandwiches, had no appeal when taken alone.

Whisky was a different matter. One wall of the basement was neatly lined with industrial sized bottles of whisky he’d found in the pantry. The adjoining wall contained an equally neat row of empty bottles. He kept one bottle by his bed, the only furniture in the room. He used he bed both as a chair for reading books he’d “borrowed” from the library upstairs, and as a surface barely more comfortable that the concrete floor to lie on his back, think and meditate. He reached for the bottle beside his bed, which was just close enough to grab. He took several long swigs. He’d long ago dispensed with glasses. They were unnecessary and necessitated noisy trips to the kitchen sink and running water, either of which cold bring Dean or Sam to investigate. He needed to consume vast amounts of whisky to slightly alleviate his pain. Whisky left him in a state of anhedonia., which he found preferable to unrelenting grief.

He knew it was a bad idea, but he poured a few drops of whiskey into the inverted bottle cap, and offered it to the rat. The rat sniffed and immediately turned his head away. 

“Wise choice,” Castiel said, and grabbed one of the bottled waters next to the whisky. The tiny room was convenient in that Cas could reach almost everything from his bed. He cleansed the top of the liquor bottle with water and offered it again to the rat, who drank thirstily and scurried away.

Castiel lay on his back, his hands making a pyramid on his stomach, and tried empty his mind and drift off to a state of light meditation. It didn’t work. Castiel had too much on his mind to ignore.

At the moment, he was thinking about octopi. When he’d been assigned to watching sea creatures, he had seen octopi exhibit an intelligence quite similar to humans. They moved rocks to form coves to protect themselves. They were extraordinarily talented in determining how to slip through tiny crevices, either to eat or protect themselves from being eaten. They were playful and curious, taking apart natural alcoves made of shells, using care to avoid damage. They often picked up shells, rocks, and anything else they could, then felt the object with their suckers like a blind man touching a face to commit it to memory. Castiel had never seen an octopus go to war, nor kill merely for fun. Octopi seemed to possess the best human traits while avoiding the worst.

Castiel didn’t mind watching other sea creatures catch and feed on octopi. Life under the sea was circular. However, when it came time to observe humans, he shuddered every time he saw someone eat an octopus tentacle at a sushi bar. Life on land was meant to be circular, too, but it was flawed. Humans had no reason to consume octopi; they had an overabundance of choices of sustenance. Yet they ate these incredibly intelligent creatures, perhaps more intelligent than themselves, as thoughtlessly as they ate the slices of ginger that came with the sushi.

He mused on the short lifecycle of octopi. They were born, mated once, and died, all within the course of a year. He wondered why his Father would bother to create such a complex creature, if it was only allowed to live for such a short time. He went on to contemplate mayflies. Adult mayflies live for up to one day at the most. Octopi live for one year. Humans live for a little less than one century. These differences are immaterial to angels. Except for Castiel. When he thought of Dean, a century seemed like the time it took to snap his fingers.

Which is why Castiel was hiding out alone in the bunker’s basement, waiting for his brothers to put an end to the Earth as he knew it. That thought bothered him far less than being in love with Dean for at most five decades, then continuing on, alone and heartbroken, for all eternity.

__________________  
   
One week ago

Dean, Sam and Cas had just come home from a hunt that had gone particularly well. No innocents had been hurt, and all three hunters were relatively unscathed. No one required angelic healing.

They sat around the bunker’s scratched but sturdy kitchen table, celebrating. Sam was drinking beer, Dean whisky, and Cas coffee. Sam was drinking a little more beer than he probably should have. Dean was drinking a lot more whisky than he should have. Cas was sipping his tenth cup of coffee. As always, caffeine seemed to have no effect on the angel. He simply liked the taste of coffee.

The three of them were laughing and talking about old cases, and generally having an unusually good time. As they rehashed the hunt, Cas contributed one of his typical malapropisms.

“We were quite lucky that the martyr of crows appeared when they did,” he said.  
Dean and Sam looked at each other and laughed aloud.

“Is there something humorous about a martyr of crows?” Cas asked, with his usual tilted head and bemused expression. “I always thought that was an odd way to refer to a collection of crows.”

“That’s because there is no such thing as a martyr of crows,” Sam gasped out between snorts of thwarted laughter. “It’s a murder of crows.”

Murder or martyr, Dean found Cas’s misunderstanding adorable. And very funny. He barely avoided snorting a large quantity of whisky through his nose.

“Oh,” said Cas. “Excuse me. But I don’t understand why a martyr of crows is amusing, while a murder of crows is not. Neither of them make sense. Birds are neither martyrs nor murderers.”

“Sorry,” said Sam, still stifling laughter, “but you can be pretty funny sometimes.”

Cas tilted his head a bit more and narrowed his eyes.

“Did I make an inadvertent joke?” Cas asked, with his childlike ignorance of so many things human.

The brothers’ laughing fit flared up again. Dean almost toppled backwards in his chair. He had to grab onto Cas’s shoulder to avoid falling over. “I love you, Cas,” he said, his laughter quieting down a bit.

“I love you too, Dean,” Cas replied. “But I don’t see what human emotions have to do with the correct terminology for herds of avian creatures.”

Sam snorted.

“No,” Dean said, tossing back a large slug of whisky. He was so drunk he was bordering on being completely out of control. Or maybe he’d already passed that border. What the hell, he thought. It’s now or never. “I mean I love you. I really love you.” He pulled Cas closer, running his fingers through the angel’s hair. He cupped Cas’s jaw in his hand, and bent close to kiss him, smelling strongly of whisky and desire.

Cas froze in his seat, then jumped up and ran out of the kitchen. He headed straight toward the basement stairs, which for some inscrutable reason were hidden in the back of a hall closet full of dust and unused cleaning equipment. He took the stairs to the basement two at a time. He felt foolish and immature, hiding in the basement, but he didn’t know what else to do. He had loved Dean for a very long time. But when Dean had finally opened his heart to Cas, the angel’s heart shattered into far too many shards ever to be glued back together.

Back upstairs, Dean pounded the table and shouted “Fuck.” He leaned his arms on the table and rested his head between them. For once, Sam was speechless. Neither brother had seen or spoken to Cas since.


	2. Advice for the Lovelorn

Crowley found himself in what looked like one of Hell’s slums. The tiny room was made entirely of concrete: walls, floor and ceiling. He stared at Cas and said “This is exactly the sort of place that gives Hell a bad name. I wouldn’t condemn the souls of men who like to play with little children’s naughty bits to spend eternity in such a tedious place. Where, pray tell, is this nasty little squalid room you’ve summoned me to?”

“In the basement,” Castiel replied, unhelpfully. He spoke in such a monotone he sounded as if he was reading a foreign language phonetically, syllable by syllable. He sat still on his bed, back upright, eyes downcast, while Crowley paced within the boundaries of the demon circle.

“The basement,” repeated Crowley. “Which basement? Where?”

“The bunker.”

“You’ve finally gone off your rocker, bird,” Crowley said. “The entire bunker is a basement. Basements don’t have basements. Being King of Hell provides a unique expertise on the subject of basements.”

“This is a sub-basement,” said Castiel.

“Whatever it is, it’s filthy. I’ve already got dust all over my shoes. They’re going to need a good polish, and I detest the smell of shoe polish.”

Castiel was silent.

“What? Are we playing twenty questions? Is it angel, demon or human?”

“I need to talk,” Castiel replied.

“Yes, I got that bit. What could you possibly need to talk to me about?”

“I have a question,” said Castiel, followed by a long silence.

“You summoned me to tell me you have a question,” Crowley said, annoyed. “Do you need help with phrasing? Vocabulary? Word on the tip of your tongue sort of thing?”

“I have a question for you,” Cas replied in the same monotone. Then he returned to silence.

“I see we’re back to twenty questions again.” Crowley looked around at the room. “Is it bigger than a putrid loaf of stale bread?” he asked.

No response.

“Is it bigger than an entire wall of rotgut whisky bottles? Come now, surely you know the rules of twenty questions. I ask the questions, you reply. I’m waiting.”

Castiel sighed and stared somewhere to the left of Crowley. “I need to ask you a question about Dean.”

“I should have guessed,” Crowley replied. “Always about the Winchesters with you, isn’t it? Do you mind?” he asked, gesturing to the circle Castiel had drawn on the floor. Castiel could just reach the circumference of the circle from his bead. He erased a bit with his toe to let Crowley out.

Crowley took in the room with a look of disgust. He snapped his fingers and a dark red velvet recliner appeared opposite the bed. Crowley sat down, adjusted the settings, and said “Much better.”

Castiel remained silent.

“Have you brought me here to practice telepathy?” Crowley asked, flicking some dust off his coat. “Sorry, not in the demon handbook.”

Castiel looked at the floor. “Last week. Last week,” he paused.

“Have you developed a stammer?” Crowley said. “I’ve heard that craning your neck back while drinking a glass of water helps. No, wait. That’s for hiccups. Spit it out , bird. Why am I here?”  


“A week ago Dean told me he loved me. I ran and have been hiding here ever since. What should I do?” Castiel asked, still avoiding Crowley’s eyes.

“You can’t be serious,” Crowley replied. “You summoned me here to ask for advice about your love life with the squirrel? I’m a busy demon. I was in the middle of a spell that requires five minutes of uninterrupted chanting in Enochian. Now I’ve got to start all over again. I despise Enochian. All those grunty one-syllable words make me feel as if I’m addressing a pig.”

“I don’t know anyone else to ask,” Castiel finally replied. “Heaven is currently out of bounds and would be useless anyway. I can’t ask Sam or Dean. I don’t know any humans who don’t know Sam or Dean. That leaves you.”

Crowley shook his head. “Priceless. Whatever gave you the ludicrous notion that I give a goat’s teat about your love life?”

Castiel blushed. His vessel’s face developed two hectic red spots, one on each cheek.

“You and Dean were,” he paused. “You had a certain bond while searching for the Mark of Cain. I believe the two of you had sexual intercourse while Dean was a demon. You’ve been living amongst men for a long time. I thought you might have a suggestion,” Castiel murmured, his voice becoming quieter and his vessel’s cheeks burning more and more painfully with each word. “What should I do?”

Crowley wiped at the chair’s armrest. “Now there’s dust all over my freshly created recliner.” He studied his surroundings again. “I don’t think imbibing several bottles of rotgut a day is going to help,” he concluded. “Perhaps a luxurious hot bath together, with aromatic candles and rose petals?” Crowley said. “Some accidental contact between your dangly bits?”

“That is lewd,” said Castiel.

“I’m lewd,” replied Crowley. “Sex is lewd. Why did you bring me here if you don’t want my advice?”

“You must be able to recommend a subtler approach.”

“I could,” answered Crowley, playing with the recliner’s remote control. “But I doubt it would be as efficient.”

“Nevermind,” Castiel responded. “I have no idea why I thought this might be a good idea in the first place.”

Crowley scoffed.

“Also,” added Castiel, as an afterthought, “Heaven is planning to demolish Earth.”

Crowley laughed. “That didn’t work so well the first hundred times they’ve tried. Your species is imbecilic. Last I heard, you were trying to **stop** the apocalypse. Perhaps heaven should consult a mediator or pre-school teacher to learn how to work nicely togeth-”

Crowley disappeared in mid-word, along with his recliner. He recognized his new surroundings immediately: the bunker kitchen.

“Surely there must be an easier way to navigate this bunker than being summoned from room to room,” Crowley growled. “Although I must admit, this really is truly priceless. Do you know where I was when you summoned me? Downstairs giving relationship advice to your pet angel.”

“There is no downstairs,” Sam said.

“I beg to differ. I was just there. To what do I owe this pleasure?” Crowley asked.

“Actually,” said Dean, “I was sort of hoping you could offer some advice about Castiel. You were, uh, you seemed, familiar with this sort of problem when we, when I was a demon. I, uh, I made a mess last time I talked to Cas, and...”

“Apparently being in love causes both angels and humans to develop stammers. You two deserve each other. Do you really think I could possibly be of help? Even if I wanted to? And would you mind?” he asked, pointing to the ward. “I am becoming tired of standing in demon circles.”

Sam brushed a hole in the chalk, allowing Crowley safe passage to the kitchen table. He pulled out a metal chair with a ripped seat. He looked at it with disgust, grabbed a napkin and wiped it off, then sat down.

“Really, boys. Just because you live in a bunker doesn’t mean you must live in lurid filth. Now speak up, squirrel, and get to the point. I’ve already wasted enough time with your bird downstairs.”

“You and Cas were pretty tight a while back. It seems I’ve, uh, maybe moved a bit too fast,” Dean’s face was bright red and the last thing he wanted to do was keep talking to Crowley about his personal life. But that was what seemed to be happening.

“I don’t know if you two messed around at all, but-”

“For crying out loud,” said Crowley. “Whatever gave you and your angel the idea that I’ve started an advice for the lovelorn service? This has progressed from amusing to tiresome. I don’t write a “Dear Crowley” column and I have no intention to start now. Use your boy bits. Think with your little head.”

Crowley stood up to leave. A fart like sound emanated from his rear. Dean had his head in his hands at this point, but Sam had to cover his mouth to hide a smirk.

“Damn!” Crowley said. “I’ve just ripped a brand new pair of trousers because they stuck to, I don’t even want to think about the sticky substance on the seat of your kitchen chair that they stuck to.

“Do you have any idea how incredibly annoying the two of you have been? Birds and the bees, squirrel, birds and the bees. I have no doubt you can figure it out for yourselves. I have nothing to offer either of you. My demon wiles are mine and mine alone. Now if you don’t mind, I need to cast a spell. Again. A particularly difficult and time-consuming spell which I will now have to start all over again. From scratch. So if you don’t mind,”

Crowley disappeared. Dean sighed deeply, and Sam actually worried about how florid his brother had become.

“One more thing,” Crowley’s disembodied voice said. “You owe me for the trousers.”

__________________

 

Castiel wondered what he had been thinking when he summoned Crowley for advice. Not only did he humiliate himself in front of the demon, but the summoning had been entirely unnecessary. A foolish attempt to find a different truth. The fact was, he knew exactly why he’d run from Dean when he finally admitted a love they’d both skirted around for years. He was afraid. Afraid and selfish. If he allowed himself to act on his feelings for Dean, he would feel overjoyed. Literally. He was afraid of feeling such joy for such a very short time. Half a century.

Even before Dean’s drunken confession, Castiel knew he would mourn the end of Dean’s natural lifespan. He would carry that wound for the rest of his very long life. Perhaps forever. The hurt he felt from being abandoned by his father had not lessened with time, and he had no reason to believe the hurt of losing Dean would be any different.

If he and Dean became lovers, the wound would cut exponentially deeper. Castiel had never considered himself particularly brave. He merely did what was required of him. What his Father would have wanted him to do. He was afraid such a sharp and deep wound would fester and, with time, make him bitter. He feared he wouldn’t be strong enough to stop himself from becoming an even worse angel than he already was.

Castiel had wreaked havoc upon Heaven and Earth so many times now he wondered why Michael didn’t smite him, or send him to join Lucifer in Hell. He was lucky to be alive, although living with unfulfilled desire didn’t feel lucky. If he and Dean became lovers, he would feel not only unlucky, but terrified. He imagined that the fear of Dean’s death would taint their love. The knowledge that every day his lover was one step closer to dying would become intolerable. He wished the power of his love could keep Dean alive forever. But he knew it could not. Dean was an octopus. So much strength, selflessness, absolute loyalty to family, and so much passion, designed to be cut short in at most six more decades. Sixty years. Seventy-two months. Eighteen thousand, two hundred and fifty days, the last several thousand of which would increasingly tear at his heart as he watched his lover age and inevitably deteriorate toward death.

He hated his Father for creating such tiny mayfly, octopus, and human lifespans, while forcing angels to live for millennia, if not forever. He knew angels were created to protect and serve, not to love. He hated his Father for making a mistake creating him, giving him the body of an angel and the heart of a human. He was a freak. A hybrid. A mutant. Castiel would never forgive his Father, just as he would never stop loving Dean. He hoped Michael and his army of angels would succeed in demolishing Earth, along with every living being that inhabited the planet, including himself. He hoped his brother would succeed soon. Castiel knew that he was being inconceivably selfish, but he hoped Michael would succeed today, right now, so that he wouldn’t have to make such an impossible choice. Either way, he would lose.

Castiel knew that Dean was incapable of sharing these feelings. He knew that Dean would be so much happier with him, all of him, than without. As far as Castiel could tell, love was meant to be selfless. Dean’s love was selfless. Castiel despised himself for being unable to feel the same way. He knew he was hurting Dean, hiding out and refusing to talk. He wondered if he’d already caused Dean to harden his heart against him, and if not yet, then when. A thousand times he thought of walking up that stairway and taking Dean into his arms. A thousand times he was unable to bring himself to approach that first step.

He reached for the bottle by his bed, only to discover it was empty. He added it to his collection of empties, and brought over two new full bottles. He drank the first bottle in one long draught, and wished he were able to get drunk, to achieve even temporary oblivion. But angels were denied that escape. They were denied the escape of sleep, and dreams. They were condemned to constant awareness.

Castiel threw the empty whisky bottle at the wall of empties, causing them to break into innumerable shards, indistinguishable from one another. He envied the bottles, identical whether they were intact or smashed into infinitesimally miniscule pieces. He wished he knew how it felt to be an empty bottle amongst infinite armies of identical empty bottles. He was so very tired of being the one bottle that refused to crack.

 


	3. Under the Stars

Angels are not meant to live without light. Their grace demands it. Although he still felt disgraced, Castiel had spent too much time in a windowless basement room. He needed to be outside. He eschewed the human method of travelling and took a very short flight outdoors to the top of the stairs leading down to the bunker. Less chance of running into Sam or Dean, and more immediate gratification.

The sky was a clear dark blue, punctuated by uncountable stars, though Castiel knew the name of each and every one. Most were supernovas, dead for millenia. Yet Castiel felt cleansed in their quiet light, quelled so many years ago yet replenishing his grace with joy. Alone was so different outside. The angel’s senses tuned into everything. He could hear the quiet inhaling and exhaling of the diurnal creatures, and the measured breathing of the nocturnals, looking for prey. He smelled the grass and was soothed by the sleep of the flowers. The night air felt chilly on his face, although that was no more than a sensation. Angels were not made to be hot or cold. The smell of the night life was invigorating, and the night sky tasted of freedom.

Perhaps because he’d tried so hard to forget him, Castiel heard the sway of the narrowest stems but did not hear Dean approaching. He arrived in the noisy Impala, screeching to a stop and slamming the driver’s side door behind him. When he saw Castiel, he stopped, leaning on the Impala.

“Stargazing?” Dean asked.

“Something like that,” Castiel replied.

Now that Castiel was attuned to Dean, silence filled the night.

“I’m sorry,” Dean began just as Castiel started to say “I regret my response to your declaration.”

They both stopped, awkward. Finally Dean broke the silence.

“Gotta admit I was surprised, buddy. The last thing I expected was for you to run away from me as if I was some rabid animal.”

“No,” said Cas, quietly. “You’ve got it entirely wrong. I ran because I was afraid.”

Dean scoffed. “Right. An angel afraid of a mere mortal like me.”

“That’s exactly why I was afraid. I was selfish,” Cas said. “I was afraid of being hurt.”

“What, did you think I wanted a one-nighter, after all this time?” asked Dean, bewildered.

“No. I knew you would hurt me,” Cas replied coldly.

“Well thanks, dude, thanks a lot. I’d kinda thought I’d earned your trust by now, but I guess angels don’t do trust.”

“Of course we do,” Castiel replied. “I trust you implicitly.”

“Then why the sudden disappearance?” Dean asked, looking into Castiel’s eyes for the first time. The angel averted his.

“I told you. I was selfish and afraid. I never thought you’d leave me willingly,” Cas explained, feeling exposed and ashamed. “I knew you’d die sometime in the next six decades, and leave me alone. For millennia. Forever, maybe. I ran from the pain.”

“So, I finally tell you I love you,” Dean said, and stopped. “Wait. You love me too?”

“Always.”

“And you run away because I’m not gonna live as long as you. That’s pretty cheap, Cas. I expected more of you.”

“Don’t you understand?” Cas asked. “The time we’ve already spent together as friends, the time we could spend as lovers, is shorter than a human breath, for me.”

“Are all angels so cold?” Dean spat out.

“No, only me. As far as I can tell I am the only angel that was given both immortality and a heart.”

“I thought you all loved Daddy Dearest,” Dean replied, kicking one of the Impala’s tires.

“That is as different from the love I feel for you as the love you feel for music,” Cas said.

“So you’re saying a real love, a love between us, would last such a short time that it’s not worth it? You’d rather feel nothing than love and loss?”

“I don’t know, Dean,” said Castiel. He sat on a rock by the side of the stairway. “I’ve never been in a situation like this before. Love between mortals and immortals makes no sense. I hate my Father for making me a hybrid like this.” He kicked at some small stones by the side of the rock.

“What about babies?” asked Dean.

“What about them?” Castiel responded. “They are unlikely to enter the equation between us.”

“Very funny. Babies are adorable, at least according to chicks. They breathe in the world around them and just accept everything,” Dean continued, thinking of Sam. “You think a father should turn his back on them because one day they’ll grow up?”

Castiel moved to the other side of the stairway, closer to Dean. He looked for a place to lean against, but there was nothing.

“Come ‘ere,” said Dean, walking toward Cas and putting an arm around him. “God didn’t make even one other angel like you?” he asked Cas.

“Not that I know of.”

“OK. I get it. That must be tough. But honestly, Cas, you’re saying it’s better not to love me at all than to love me for fifty or sixty years?”

“No,” Cas replied slowly. “I’ve already loved you since I met you.”

“In Hell?” Dean asked.

“In Hell,” Castiel answered. “But I’m afraid if I open up to you, I’ll become bitter and cruel when you die. I’ll be a worse angel than I already am.”

“Cut it out, buddy,” said Dean. “You’re afraid of loving me? I get that. You don’t want to risk it? I get that too. But you’re the best angel I’ve ever met,” Dean continued. “That heart you hate so much makes you hu--, makes you fair game.”

“You can say it, Dean. My heart makes me human. But I’m still an angel. I’m trapped, don’t you see? Trapped between species.”

“Bullshit,” Dean shouted. “You ain’t trapped any more than anyone else. No one gets a written guarantee that the people they love will live forever. Or even outlive them. That’s pretty cold, your being too afraid to lose me to love me to begin with.” Dean kicked a rock, too, accidentally hitting Cas’s shoe.

Castiel moved his foot without thinking.

“Hey man, sorry. I’m not gonna hurt you if you decide to save your own ass here. In fact, who knows. I might do the same thing.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” said Cas. “You’d love me with all your heart and fuck tomorrow.”

“Cas!! Are you ok?! I’ve never heard you say that word before, not even close.”

“Well, I’ve never felt this way before. Not even close. Though it was an unfortunate choice of expression.”

Dean chuckled. A gust of wind blew between them, smelling of night flowers and dust.

“So what’s it gonna be, angel?” asked Dean, coughing slightly from the dust.

Castiel turned to face Dean, putting a hand on each of his shoulders.

“Are you sure you can love such a flawed being?” he asked Dean.

Dean laughed. “I can think of some pretty major flaws I’ve got myself. I ain’t looking for perfect, Cas,” he said, combing the angel’s hair back off his face. “I’m just asking for you.”

Cas sighed, shifted his arms to either of Dean’s face, and pulled him close. His huge blue eyes stared into Dean’s narrow green ones. “I guess it would be like tasting a particularly good cup of imported coffee, then spitting it out because you knew you would run out soon. Pretty pointless. Life is full of pain. It would be foolish to throw away something of value for that reason.” He traced the hard lines of Dean’s jaw.

“You sure?” Dean asked. “Cause I don’t wanna be responsible if-”

Castiel cut him off with a kiss on the mouth. A small, innocent kiss, that became less so by the moment.

“Where’s Sam?” Cas asked, when they finally separated for air.

“Locked away in the library, studying, unless he’s fallen asleep by now.”

Cas grabbed Dean and pushed him hard against the driver’s side door of the Impala. Dean seemed oblivious to any possible damage to his Baby. After a long and not at all innocent kiss, Cass almost shoved Dean over to a patch of grass at the end of the driveway. The man and the angel lay down together under the stars, and finally shared what they’d been feeling for so many years. Neither of them thought of life spans, how much time they’d wasted, or how much time remained. They thought only of the now. Except every now and then Castiel thought of the ace he held up his sleeve. He kept the thought to himself.


	4. Underfoot

After Cas had finally accepted the risk of loving Dean, Dean couldn’t get rid of him. Cas followed him everywhere, like a goose imprinting on its mother. When Cas followed him into the bathroom for his morning pee, Dean decided enough was enough.

“Hey Cas,” he said. “Remember years ago when we talked about personal space?”

“Yes, I remember,” Cas answered. “Am I violating your personal space now? I believe I am standing at least several meters away from you.”

“That’s not the point, buddy. Following a man into the bathroom while he takes a piss is just creepy.”

“Oh,” Cas replied. “I wasn’t aware you were planning to urinate. When I was human, public bathrooms often contained rows of urinals. Complete strangers urinated within sight of each other. Are the rules different in the bunker?”

Dean looked at the underside of the raised toilet. It was covered in patches of vomit of indeterminate age from nights when he’d overdone it a bit with the whiskey, plus some yellow splashes. The appearance of his toilet had never bothered him before. Now he felt embarrassed for Cas to see it, then figured Cas had probably never seen a clean toilet in his life.

“Cas,” he said, making eye contact with the angel. “Guys don’t watch each other take a piss. It’s, it’s just wrong. Don’t angels give each other some privacy every now and then?”

“You know that angels have no need to urinate. We generally have no need for privacy. In our natural states as multidimensional wavelengths of celestial intent, we often overlap. If not, we need just think of each other and we are together. When we’re in vessels we’re not as physically close, but we can speak with each other whenever we choose.” _Unless we choose to turn off angel radio,_ he thought to himself.

“I think I get it,” Dean said. “But I’m not an angel. I’m human, and sometimes you hover so closely I think you’re about to grab my dick and hold it while I take a piss.” He looked down for a moment and saw the grime on the floor, especially in the grouting. _Really gotta fix that,_ he thought.

“Oh,” said Castiel. “That never occurred to me. Would you like me to hold your penis while you urinate?”

“Jesus Christ, Cas,” Dean answered. “Sorry. But no, I do **not** want you to hold my dick while I take a piss. I don’t even want to see you in the bathroom with me while I take a piss.”

“But you enjoy my touching your penis in, oh. I get it. This is one of those situations in which what’s fine in one context is wrong in another. I apologize, Dean, but it can be difficult for me to keep track. There are so many seemingly contradictory rules. Would you like me to leave the bathroom?” Cas asked.

“That would be a very good idea,” Dean answered. “Though I doubt I’ll be able to take a piss _now_ , he mumbled to himself.

“Why is that?” Cas asked. “Would it help if you locked the door behind me? I won’t come in, but still it might make you feel more comfortable.”

“Just leave,” Dean said. “I love you but there are some things a man’s gotta do by himself. Things done in the bathroom are high on the list.”

Cas tilted his head slightly and looked bemused. “All right,” he said. “Actually, it might be helpful if you wrote a list.”

“Just go, Cas. Just get out of here.”

Castiel disappeared.

 _Shit,_ thought Dean. _Now I’ve probably made him feel terrible._

He thought of looking for Cas and apologizing, but the need to urinate came back suddenly and urgently. Every time he thought he was done, he felt another need to piss. Immediately. It must have taken four or five times until he was sure his bladder was empty. He zipped up his fly, washed his hands, and dried them on a hand towel so filthy it could probably stand up on its own. He tossed the towel in the laundry bin, felt the other towels and decided they were ok, then opened the door.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he shouted, finding himself almost eye to eye with the angel. “What is the matter with you?”

Cas looked dejected. “I wish you wouldn’t take the name of the Lord in vain. I vacated the bathroom as you’d requested. I wasn’t aware of any rules about standing outside of bathroom doors. Sometimes I’m glad all of this is going to be over one day,” he said.

“Dude, I wasn’t asking you to break up with me over some goddamn bathroom etiquette.” He reached for Cas’s shoulder to pull him close.

“That’s not what I was refer-” The rest of Cas’s sentence was cut short when Dean leaned over and kissed him. Cas was happy to oblige, yet still felt a bit hurt and confused. _Is it my fault this doesn’t come naturally to me?_ he pondered. _Maybe I should read a book on human etiquette_. _I’ve see one of those, I’m sure of it. By someone Steward? No, not Steward. Stewart. Martha Stewart. That’s it._ He pulled away from Dean. Cas hated conundrums.

“Would it be helpful for me to read Martha Stewart’s book on etiquette?” he asked.

Dean laughed so hard he spit some saliva on Cas’s face. He went to wipe it off, but it was already gone.

“I love you, Cas,” he said when he’d stopped laughing. “Exactly as you are. Don’t change a thing. Except stay out of the bathroom when someone else is in there.”

Cas tilted his head so far that his vessel’s neck began to crack.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he said. “This is all so new to me.”

“New?” Dean asked. “You’ve been living on Earth off and on for almost ten years. Some of the time you were human yourself. That’s new, how?”

Castiel signed. “Dean,” he said. “When you’ve been around for millennia, five years is not a very long time.”

Dean could have kicked himself. Cas had confided his sadness about this very subject. Only instead of millennia gone by, he was now referring to millennia to come. He felt awful and wanted to make it up to Cas. Though it was hard to tell what an angel wanted. Flowers. Cas had often talked about the beauty of flowers. Buying him flowers was just too girly, but maybe they could plant some bulbs.

“Hey angel. I’m really sorry. I was outta line. How’d you like to plant some flowers?” he asked.

“Now? It’s almost fall. They’ll hardly have a chance to bloom before,” he paused a moment. “Before the frost will kill them,” he finished.

“That’s the beauty of it. We won’t plant actual flowers. We can plant perennial bulbs. They’ll bloom every year.”

“I know what perennial bulbs are,” Cas said in a voice that, for him, bordered on rudeness.

Dean stared at the wall. He saw that some of the paint was peeling, probably from the heat and humidity of the bathroom. For some reason, he’d never noticed that the bunker was so old and dirty. Maybe he and Cas and Sam could give the place a proper fall cleaning. Dean still remembered that right after Cas had turned human, he’d seen his reflection in a mirror and cried out “I’m dirty!” in amazement. Dean guessed that Heaven must be like one huge vacuum cleaner.

“Sorry for all the mess,” Dean told Castiel.

No reply.

 _He can’t be giving me the silent treatment over a dirty bathroom,_ Dean thought. 

Cas remained silent.

“You there, buddy?” Dean asked.

Cas shook his head like a wet dog. He sighed. “I have a lot on my mind, Dean. I apologize. I must have been gathering wool.”

Dean smiled. "It's wool gathering, not gathering wool."

"I don't see the difference, but I must have been wool gathering," Cas replied. 

“So you can’t dream, but you can daydream. Not bad. I’ve never heard of daydreaming nightmares,” Dean said, in an attempt at levity.

“I have,” answered Cas.

Dean was going to ask what Cas had meant by that, but was distracted by the sound of the Impala approaching and stopping in garage. _I told him not to park in the garage. It’s full of shelves and gears and tools, and one of these days he’s gonna back out and hit something._ Dean looked at Cas and felt an overwhelming surge of love for his brother. He made a conscious decision to stop nagging Sam about the garage. If he’d just clean up his own mess, there wouldn’t be a problem. Dean had no idea where this cleaning kick came from. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear he was getting ready to put the bunker on the market. More likely, it was being so close to Cas. Now that he was an angel again, he was always so clean, everything else looked dirty by comparison.

“Hey guys,” Sam shouted from the kitchen. “Want to help me put away these groceries? This _frozen pie’s_ gonna melt,” he said.

Dean felt overwhelmed by Cas’s strange mood, and was all too happy to help. “You coming?” he asked Cas.

“Coming where?”

“To the kitchen, to help Sam unpack the groceries, like we were just talking about.” Dean was starting to worry about Cas.

“Will you two be all right without me?”

Dean gave him a strange look. Cas had spoken as if he wasn’t quite there. _This can’t still be about the bathroom,_ thought Dean.

“We’ll be fine,” he told Cas. “Just go take care of whatever’s on your mind." Cas disappeared. That was the second time today. Cas _never_ used his wings in the bunker. “Coming,” Dean shouted to Sam.

 

__________________

 

Even though Castiel had turned off angel radio, an archangel had the right and the ability to turn it back on.

“What is it this time, Michael?” Castiel asked. “Can’t you leave me in peace?”

“No,” answered Michael. “We need you. The annihilation of Earth is more complicated than we’d originally thought.”

“Why are you telling me?” asked Castiel, tired and annoyed. “Did I not make it obvious when we last spoke that I don’t care?”

Michael ignored Cas and continued.

“It is proving more difficult than anticipated to find a meteor large enough to destroy Earth on impact. Asteroids in the Earth’s solar system are all too small. We had based our calculations on the 10 km meteorite that destroyed the dinosaurs to determine the size of a meteor required to eliminate the earth. The expanding universe has caused meteors of the magnitude we require to be much farther away than we’d expected. The residual meteors are all too small.”

“Why do you keep assuming that I care?” Castiel asked.

“You cannot hide from us that you find astrophysics fascinating and used much of your time on earth as a human to study the stars.”

“And you cannot force me to act upon that knowledge,” Castiel snapped at the archangel.

“Watch what you say, Brother. I have warned you before. It is unwise to forget the consequences of transgression.”

“Fine,” Castiel responded. “I will share that information with you. Who is best suited to understand and implement my extremely limited knowledge of astrophysics?”

Michael paused. He paused for so long Castiel wondered if their conversation had been temporarily interrupted. Occasionally very small heavenly bodies disconnected conversations. He was about to ask if Michael was still there when the archangel replied.

“Lucifer.”

“No,” Castiel stated. “I refuse to have any more contact with him whatsoever.”

“You refuse.” The words were shrouded in bitterness. “You are the only angel who has the ability to choose acceptance or refusal. Which is why your presence is required; you can choose to prevent an inadvertently unwise decision. The rest of us have no choice but to follow orders, as you well know.”

“Including your own orders?” Castiel replied.

“Yes, when they are the only logical conclusion Father would have reached.”

“And when did you last speak with Father? What leads you to conclude this is what he would want?”

“I’ve already told you that is immaterial. This is your last warning. Return home now or face the consequences.”

Michael severed the connection, which told Castiel more about Heaven’s dilemma than the entire preceding conversation. He wanted to forget Michael and be with Dean, but the shower was on. He correctly assumed that if Dean was in the shower, he would find Cas’s appearance unwelcome. He did not want to find out what would happen if Sam was in the shower. So he returned to his sub basement room armed with a slice of fresh bread, and looked for his pet rat for comfort.

Cas had been spending his nights in Dean’s room, lying next to him while he slept. He hadn’t been to his own basement room for days. He opened the door, broke off a slice of bread, and found the rat dead on the floor by his bed. It had become dependent on Cas for food and water and lost the ability to forage on its own. Cas sat on the bed and stared straight ahead for a very long time before giving the rat a proper burial. After digging a small hole, he made a cross out of twigs that he tied together and planted like a very small tree. Then he went back inside to get a Sharpie and wrote RIP Rat on a rock as a headstone. He placed the rat in the hole, secured the cross and headstone, and said a prayer. He hoped that his brother would find a suitable meteor soon.


	5. Reckoning Chair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I apologise for having taken so long to view the finish line. Thank you for bearing with me.
> 
> For those of you who don't know, leaving kudos is the easiest way to indicate whether you enjoy the story or not. If you are aware of this and have not left kudos, I respect your decision. If you are unaware, especially if you are a guest and cannot comment, please check the kudos box at the end of the story if you feel it is warranted. If not, of course, leave it blank. You need only leave kudos once per work.
> 
> Otherwise, the discrepancy between hits and kudos seems as if most readers think the story unworthy of praise. If true, so be it.
> 
> This is the second-to-last chapter. The last chapter should follow soon. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> BIG OOPS! I did research this chapter but I know nothing about astrophysics and everything I say could be wrong. I hope you can read past any glaringly wrong science.

The kitchen smelled of leftover bacon and eggs. Leftover bacon was not a common occurrence in the bunker kitchen. Sam eschewed bacon; Dean devoured it. Dean seemed unaware of the existence of leftovers on the fake marble linoleum kitchen counter. His nose smelled the bacon, but his mind ignored it. He’d mechanically eaten everything on his plate, then seemed to forget about food.

Sam was totally absorbed with his iPad. Ostensibly he was looking for new jobs, but in fact he was enjoying getting lost in link upon link upon link. Dean stared ahead, either thinking very hard or trying not to think at all. His elbow hit his coffee cup, so he took a sip, scratching his lip on the chipped rim as always. The coffee had become lukewarm. The kitchen was strangely silent. Even Sam’s iPad didn’t click as his old keyboard had done. Both brothers were wondering where Castiel was but neither wanted to ask. They felt as long as his presence wasn’t in the room, they could ignore his increasingly uncomfortable mood.

“Here’s an interesting looking case in, oh wait, never mind,” Sam said, not taking his eyes off the iPad. Dean didn’t even question him. He got up and poured his cooled coffee into the sink, then brought over a beer. Sam gave him a questioning look, but stayed quiet. At least it was beer, not whiskey.

After a while, Cas shuffled in, looking very tired for an angel who didn’t sleep. “Hello, Dean. Hello Sam,” he said in his usual greeting. “Any coffee left?” looking at the automatic drip machine. The bottom of the pot held an inch of some sort of sledge. “Guess not,” he said. “Should I make a new pot?” After neither brother responded, he took a seat by Sam and looked over his shoulder at the iPad. “Why are you reading about male fish with ovaries?” he asked Sam.

“Long story,” Sam replied.

“I would like to hear it,” Castiel said.

“Sorry. I don’t really feel like explaining,” Sam answered. Sam always felt like explaining, but Castiel let it pass.

“How are you?” Castiel asked Dean, who’d been staring at him ever since he entered the room. “Looking for a definition in the Encyclopedia Castiel?” he said. Every time he learned a new human idiom, he felt proud and sought acknowledgement. “No?” he asked.

Sam huffed a slight snort of laughter.

“Uh, no, didn’t mean to stare,” said Dean.

“Actually,” Cas responded, “you were already staring and I happened to occupy the space you were staring at.”

No response.

“Dean? Is something wrong?” Cas asked.

“I was actually wondering the same thing about you,” Dean said. He thought for a moment. “Dumb question. Is anything ever right?” Dean asked. He reached over and took Cas’s hand, intertwining their fingers.

“This is right,” Castiel said, looking at Dean’s hand.

“Yeah,” said Dean. “This is always right. It’s always been right. It’s right now, and it will be right forever.”

Cas’s eyes clouded over. “At least we managed to get something right.” He reached over to give Dean a chaste kiss, which soon became anything but. The angel and the man held each other as tightly as possible, and intertwined their bodies like they had done with their hands. Sam got up to leave the room.

“Stay, Sam. Please.” Cas sighed, disentangling himself from Dean. “I need to talk to both of you. I apologize if we made you uncomfortable. Dean was correct. I am a bit sad because my pet rat died of neglect while I’ve been sleeping in Dean’s room,” Cas responded, telling the truth but hiding much larger truths. He felt foolish asking Sam to stay to hear about his dead rat.

“Your pet _what_?” Dean asked, blinking and turning to face Cas.

“When I was sleeping alone in the sub-basement, I was lonely. I started feeding a rat who lived in the wall. I gave him water, too. We became friends. I forgot about him when I was with you. Apparently I’d inadvertently tamed him. He’d forgotten how to forage in my absence. The last time I entered my old room, I found him dead by my bed,” Castiel explained, quite verbosely for him.

“Oh, man,” Dean replied. “I’m sorry.” Dean’s previous experience with rats had been to kill them. “We could have taken him to my room,” he offered.

“I think he preferred the basement,” Cas said.

Sam discreetly covered his mouth and held his iPad in front of his face. He didn’t mean to be cruel; he could tell the rat was important to Cas. But the pantry was well-stocked with rat traps. The situation stuck him as sad and somewhat surreal.

“We could get a real pet,” Dean suggested. “I know you've always wanted a dog, Sam. A dog would be useful, like a burglar alarm.”

“I don't really think we'll be needing a burglar alarm, and dogs take a lot of time to train,” Cas said, looking at Sam. ”Do you like cats? I’ve always found them a charming but bewildering species.” Cas pulled out a rickety wooden chair and sat next to Dean at the kitchen table, near the door. “Purrs are among the most calming creations on earth. Yet growling and hissing and attacking are the polar opposite. Living with a cat is very good way to learn patience.”

“Yeah, this might not be the best time to get a dog," Sam sighed, avoiding the obvious; this would be the last chance to get a dog. "And Dean's not exactly a cat person,” said Sam. Dean remained silent. “Dean? DEAN!!” Sam shouted.

“What?” Dean snapped.

“We were discussing adopting a cat for Cas. What d’ya think? 

“Right. A cat. Sure. As long as it would be Cas's cat.”

“What’s our zip code?” Sam asked.

“I don’t even know our postal address,” Dean replied. “Why?”

“There’s an online adoption site that finds cats for you according to zip code.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Dean said. “I see stray cats around here all the time. Next one that walks down the bunker steps, we’ll take him in.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas replied. “And Sam. Cats can carry diseases that can harm humans. I’ll be sure to heal him before we let him inside.”

“Okay, then,” replied Dean. “It’s a done deal. All we have to do is find—Cas? What’s wrong?”

Cas’s eyes were tightly shut and he seemed unaware of his surroundings. He stood up, knocking over his chair. He opened his eyes, which looked a painful blue.

“Um, I have to leave for a minute,” Cas said, walking fast and shutting the kitchen door behind him. No one ever shut the kitchen door.

Dean started to get up, but Sam reached over and pressed a hand on his shoulder. “Let him be, Dean,” Sam said. “I’ve seen Cas like this before. Angel radio. He’ll tell us what we need to know.”

“Uh, okay,” Dean replied, though he very much wanted to follow Cas. He resumed staring at the empty place where Cas had been.

“I know it’s not easy,” Sam told Dean. “But it’s for the best.”

Dean remained silent.

“Poor rat,” Sam added, staring as if he could see the dead animal.

\----------------

“Michael wait. I can’t concentrate.” Even though the conversation was not aloud, Castiel needed to be alone. He chose a comfortable chair in the library. This might turn out to be a long conversation. Castiel was determined it would be the last, even if he had to permanently break his angel radio.

“Michael? Are you still there?”

Castiel heard Michael thinking anger.

“I’ve decided,” Cas said.”I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I may not know more than you, but I will do my best.”

“Have you researched the effects of the expanding universe on our plan? This information is more accurately obtained from Earth than from Heaven, but I understand enough that I’ll know if you are lying.”

“How can I lie to you?” Cas replied. “I’m an angel. Angels cannot lie.”

“No,” Michael responded as if he were a snake spitting venom. “I am an angel. I am an archangel of the Lord. I cannot lie.” He paused, “You . . . you, I do not know what you’ve become. If you are able to disobey me, you are no longer an angel. You are a new species, an abomination.”

These words should not have hurt Castiel, but they did.

“This is what I’ve been able to glean,” Castiel spoke in a monotone. “I cannot vouch for the accuracy of what I am about to tell you,” he continued, feeling himself getting angrier by the moment. He stopped and took a deep breath. “However, I can promise you that what I say is exactly what I believe. If what I believe is incorrect,” Castiel stopped himself. He closed the connection for a moment and said a brief prayer to his absent Father for the grace to continue the conversation.

“I gather you are concerned that the expansion of the universe will interfere with your plans.”

“That is what I told you, yes,” Michael replied.

““As far as I can tell, as the universe expands, it will eventually be swallowed by a huge black hole. You needn’t concern yourself about that for about 150 billion years. The expansion of the universe has virtually no effect on your plans, unless you want to wait until Earth and the rest of the universe is sucked into a black hole. Eventually even the black hole will disappear,” Castiel added, not because it was relevant to the angels’ plan but because it was the logical ending of that particular piece of research.

“How can a black hole disappear?” Michael asked.

“I have no idea,” Castiel responded. “You asked me for information, not interpretation.”

A brief pause ensued.

“Do you still plan to somehow harness a meteor or asteroid and force it to break through the Earth’s atmosphere, in the process becoming a meteorite and hitting the Earth?” Castiel resumed.

“We have not changed our plans since you and I last spoke,” said Michael, sounding even more venomous. Castiel ignored Michael’s tone of voice and continued.

“Then you will need to find a very large meteor or asteroid,” Castiel forced his voice to be bland. “The asteroid that penetrated the Earth’s atmosphere 66 million years ago and took out the dinosaurs, measured 10 km across by the time it hit Earth and became a meteorite. It created a fairly small crater; only 180 km. For the first few hours after impact, rocky debris was pushed back into the high atmosphere, creating a storm of glowing fireballs in the sky. The radiant energy from these fireballs heated the surface to boiling temperatures for some minutes. That was what killed the dinosaurs on the surface of the planet. Subterranean life could have escaped the heat, but would have most likely been killed by debris. However, a 180 km crater is relatively small and left most of the planet intact.

“To destroy the entire planet, I’d estimate you will require a meteor or asteroid hundreds of times larger than the one that killed the dinosaurs. And a certain amount of luck. Not all falling objects penetrate the atmosphere and become destructive meteorites. I do not know of a method of predicting the likelihood of atmospheric penetration.

“As with the dinosaurs, creatures lucky enough to be underground, such as moles or humans in the basement of a bunker, could resist the short-lived burst of boing temperatures, but what would they return to? If you succeed in destroying the entire planet, this becomes a moot point.

“Excuse me, brother,” Castiel interrupted himself. “I need a minute or two. I am still here.”

Castiel was not afraid of dying. It seemed a logically acceptable answer to the paradox of living indefinitely without the people he loved. Yet describing the destruction of the planet he so dearly loved in excruciating detail, knowing his brothers sought out such devastation, made his vessel sweayt and nauseated. Castiel didn’t understand how he could experience nausea when he did not eat. But he needed a few seconds to rest his head in his hands and try to rub an impending headache out of his eyes before he could continue. He kept his head in his hands, eyes closed, as he continued the conversation.

“One problem you will encounter is that meteors and asteroids vary tremendously. It is nearly impossible to predict which heavenly bodies will enter the Earth’s atmosphere, and how much damage the resulting meteorite will cause.”

“Then we will have to harness meteors and drive them toward Earth until we succeed.” Michael replied “Of course we will lose angels in the process. This is why I need you in Heaven now. To minimize loss, you will pull the meteor from the front, and a group of angels will push from the back. You should be able to do this in your natural multi-dimensional wavelength form.”

“No,” replied Castiel.

“You know that your natural form is infinitely strong,” Michael declared.

“No. I don’t care if I succeed or fail. I refuse to participate in destroying the Earth. I told you that the last time we spoke and I have not changed my mind. I was willing to contribute research because I enjoy learning, and because sharing information did not involve my own direct involvement in destruction.”  


“You will come to Heaven and remain for all eternity, or I will smite Dean.” Castiel could see Michael’s furrowed brow and the slightest hint of a smile, but he could not believe what he heard.

“Excuse me?”

“You understand perfectly well. I am offering you a choice. Come to Heaven now and lead the destruction of Earth, or I will come to Earth myself to smite Dean Winchester.”

Castiel was shocked by his brother’s audacity. He knew angels could be cruel

in their absolute love for their Father and their absolute need to follow orders. But they were never stupid.

Michael must have suggested using Dean as bait to ensure that Castiel realized his decision did not matter. Heaven was going to kill Dean and all of Earth eventually. The “choice” offered Castiel the chance to watch Dean die, and outlive him, even for a short time, or to remain on Earth and die with Dean, was meaningless. Michael knew his brother would never return to Heaven to help destroy Earth. He offered the choice purely to torment Castiel and drive home the point that Dean and Castiel and everyone else would die in any case, and that Castiel and humans would be forever separated.

“I could cut off what remains of my wings, and release my Grace,” said Castiel. “Then I would be forever mortal and useless to you.”

“I had forgotten about your urge to self-destruct,” Michael chided.

“I don’t see that I have much choice in the matter,” responded Castiel.

“Do you actually _want_ to die, brother? Remember that angels have no souls, wings and Grace nothwithstanding. You would just flicker out, and leave your precious Winchesters and human friends with souls capable of mourning you forever.”

Castiel realized he hadn’t thought this through entirely. The ramifications were bad or worse. Michael smiting Dean was never an option. He suggested it only to add to his brother’s suffering, a suffering he felt was entirely deserved. Either way, Dean and Sam’s human souls would miss Cas for all time. Unless his own soul had somehow mutated.

“I am turning off angel radio forever. Goodbye,” Castiel said, with the small satisfaction of having the last word. He could not say what he truly wanted to tell his brother; taking the name of the Lord in vain was a sin he was not willing to commit. He said a quiet goodbye to his home and turned his back on Heaven forever.

=====

Castiel had no idea how long he’d been in the library when Sam and Dean came to find him.

“You haven’t been talking to Michael all this time,” said Sam.

“True,” agreed Cas. “Mostly I have been sitting in the Reckoning Chair and thinking.”

“The what chair?” asked Dean.

“The Reckoning Chair,” Cas repeated.

“I think he means the rocking chair,” Sam told Dean. “Although for important decisions, the Reckoning Chair makes a certain amount of sense.”

“I have been sitting and thinking in the Reckoning Chair, which is also a Rocking Chair,” Castiel declared. “The rocking movement actually does makes it easier to empty my mind, which is necessary for every important decision.”

Dean was almost afraid to ask Cas what decision he’d been pondering, though it was clearly so important that needed to know. He looked pleadingly at Sam, who asked “What decision have you been considering in the Reckoning Chair?”

Cas thought for a long time about how to answer that question. He surprised both brothers by asking Sam to bring two beers; one for Sam and one for himself. He suggested Dean bring a bottle of whisky.

Both brother’s faces were pale, but Dean stumbled when he tried to get off the couch.

“I got it,” said Sam.

Cas got out of the chair and sat next to Dean on the couch. He put his hands on Dean’s shoulders to turn him slightly to face him. The second he touched Dean, he could feel the shaking through his entire body. Cas changed his mind and pulled Dean close for a long hug. When Sam returned with the drinks, Cas took a beer in one hand and put the other hand on Dean’s leg, high enough to indicate a loving ownership, but low enough to avoid sexual arousal. Sam looked for a place to sit that was close but not encroaching. He subconsciously avoided the Reckoning Chair, and ended up perched on the arm of the other side of the couch that Dean and Cas were sitting in.

Cas took a sip of beer, mostly to lubricate his throat. He and Sam stared at each other eye to eye. Cas moved slightly so he could see both brothers. He kissed the top of Dean’s head in a movement so natural he didn’t seem aware of what he was doing. Then he took a deep breath and told the brothers everything he and Michael had said, from their earlier conversation to the one he’d just finished. Dean unconsciously slid closer to Cas, grabbing his arm, and Sam listened with a penetrating stare as Castiel told them about the imminent end of the world.

 

 


	6. Goodbye, Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING: PLEASE DON'T READ THIS CHAPTER IF YOU ONLY LIKE FLUFFY, HAPPY ENDINGS. I didn't use ratings because of spoilers, but if it will upset you to read a less than 100% happy ending, you might want to stop here and imagine your own ending. Cosmically, I think the ending is complicated. But that's just my opinion. I don't want to hurt anyone or make them feel sucker-punched.**
> 
> Again, my knowledge of astrophysics is miniscule. Also, from what I do know, I intentionally manipulated a bit. That's why this is fan fiction, not fan fact. However, I'm aware I've surely made grave scientific errors and Supernatural is not a scientific show so, unless you really feel the need to comment about it, please smile evilly and think "she is such a fool. This story would never work in real life." I'm not sure that a relationship between an angel and a human would work in real life, either! :-)
> 
> Hope you enjoy. Or ponder. Or anything but hate. I never aim for hate.

 

 

Sam and Dean were silent. This was so huge it was beyond their immediate understanding. Even if Amara had won, the Earth would still exist. In nothingness, but it would still exist. Dean grabbed Cas hard as if that would change his fate. Sam stared at the library wall as if the books could change his fate. They could not comprehend that nothing could change their fate.

Dean, never one to keep his mouth shut, broke the silence.

“Shit. I finally tell you I love you and the world literally comes to an end? Do you know how many people have told me ‘oh, go ahead and tell him, Dean. Its not like the world’s gonna come to an end.’ Guess they were wrong.”

Cas glared at Dean. “The end of the world is a little more important than our love, Dean.”

“Fuck you,” replied Dean. “Not for me. Oh right. I forgot. You’re an _angel_ and I’m just a hunter.”

“I apologize, Dean. I didn’t mean to be insensitive. Our love is important to me, too. But this is more important.”

“I know. But still. This is impossible. What’ll happen to all the dead souls in Heaven and Hell? Will they just disappear, like when angels die? What happens to God and Amara? Will they ever see each other again? Will they die too? Don’t the angels get that this is suicide?”

“You ask so many questions, Dean. I don’t know what would happen to the dead souls. I imagine those in Heaven will stay where they are. As for the souls in Hell, I have no idea. Hell has never disappeared before. I have no frame of reference.” Cas paused to think how to convey his message to Dean. “This is not a suicide mission. Heaven will remain intact. As for God and Amara, I cannot answer that either. I suppose they will choose their own fates.”

“But shouldn’t we warn our hunter friends? Damn, shouldn’t we warn even Crowley?”

“What would that accomplish, Dean? There is no definite time schedule for this. Would you have your friends wait in fear or denial? Would you sow terror and doubt in their final days? If you love your hunter friends, and I know you do, it’s best for them to remain unaware. It might help you feel better to have more support, but that is selfish. Sam and I can give you all the support you need.”

“But we can’t just,” Dean objected. “We don’t,” He searched for the right words. “We never stop fighting. Even when we’re dead we never stop; we manage somehow to bring each other back. We save each other. We got each other’s backs. We saved the world from Amara, for God’s sake. We can do this.”

“This isn’t one death we’re dealing with, Dean,” said Sam. “Not even the death of one species. This is the death of an entire planet.”

“C’mon, buddy. You’re the positive one. You’re the smart one. You see things that don’t make sense to me. Help me out here,” said Dean.

“I just did,” Sam sighed. “I’m not seeing anything you’re not. This is Earth dying. We can’t stop it or bring it back.” He paused and bit his lip. “And it’s not like the entire universe will be destroyed. Just Earth.”

“Oh. Just Earth. Well in that case. Fuck you. You have no one to live for. Jessica's dead. I have Cas.”

Sam’s face took on an expression somewhere between devastated, disbelief, and defiant.

“You can’t really mean that? Yeah, Jessica's dead. Thanks for reminding me. I have so many other people to live for. Friends. Including Cas. Hunter friends. And you, dude. I thought you had my back. Always. Even for you, Dean, that’s a pretty low blow.”

Dean snorted, pretending he was trying to sneeze, then gave up and let the tears fall. Sam handed him a box of tissues.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean said when he could talk again. "About everything. I—“ his words were lost in sobs.

Sam hugged Dean and said “It’s ok. I know. Jerk.”

“Bi—“ Dean started to say, but he tried to choke back his tears and ended up coughing. Sam patted him on the back, even though he knew that the Heimlich Maneuver stops choking, not vigorous slaps on the back. But Dean wasn’t choking. and the touch was comforting. Dean got his breath back and said, “Ok, so you’re not **always** a bitch.”

“You’re still a jerk, though,” Sam answered with a small smile.

“Hey!” said Dean, suddenly empty of false hilarity. “Dude. You’re never really a bitch, you know. Well, sometimes you are. But I love you anyhow.”

“Me too,” Sam answered, “Yeah. Me too.”

“So when this meteorite thing comes, I guess we can’t have each other’s backs. No one can,” said Dean. “Speaking of which,” he asked Cas, “When is all this going down?”

“Exactly when?” Cas answered. “I don’t know. Soon.”

“Angel soon or people soon?” asked Dean.

“People soon.”

Dean actually felt his heart in his throat. He thought that was just an expression. Sam looked miserable. Cas, as always, looked inscrutable.

 

==================  
The next day  
==================

 

Dean expected to wake up dead, whatever that means, he thought. How do you wake up if you’re dead? I guess the end of the world means the end of stupid clichés, too. But he wasn’t dead. He woke in Castiel’s arms. Cas was holding him and watching him intently.

“You’re still here,” said Dean.

“I am,” Cas answered.

“Maybe we should take advantage of the situation,” Dean said, running his hands through Cas’s hair.

“Mmmmmm. Sounds like a good idea to me.”

They both tried not to think this might be the last time they’d make love, until they got too caught up to speak at all.

As days passed and nothing cataclysmic happened, Dean, for the first time, began to doubt his angel. Sam continued his research on his laptop while Dean wandered around the bunker aimlessly. As a compromise, he called his friends and said “Hey, I was just thinking of you. What’s up? Found any new evil species lately?” Dean was able to keep the tone light enough that the calls didn’t cause alarm. Sam made a few calls of his own, and Cas called Claire. Not as familiar with human nuances, Cas’s call might have caused concern, but Claire was newly in love. She chattered on and on until Cas said he had to go. He was glad she’d gotten the chance to experience love, short though it may be.

After a while Dean began to seriously doubt Cas. The sun came up, the sun went down, and nothing seemed to change. Sam asked Cas if there was any doubt that the world would end.

“Absolutely none,” Cas said. “I am completely certain. Even if the angels weren’t attacking, the Earth would end some day for some other reason. The universe is in constant flux,” he said.

Sam nodded, and asked “You could survive up in Heaven, couldn’t you?”

“Theoretically, but it’s not an option,” Cas stated.

Sam nodded. “Don’t tell Dean, ok?” he asked. “It’ll just make him more confused and hurt.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” said Cas.

As the days passed, Dean’s natural tendency to fight returned. Eventually he asked Cas “Are you sure we can’t stop it? I mean, nothing’s happened yet. Maybe the angels have changed their minds.”

“Michael does not change his mind,” Castiel replied. “This will happen.” He turned toward Dean and drew him in for a kiss. “It changes nothing between us,” Cas said. “You do know that?”

“Of course,” said Dean, then deepened the kiss. Neither of them mentioned it, but they had a tendency to make love as often as possible. Dean took Cas right there on the kitchen floor. The door was open; if Sam passed by he’d keep on walking.

 

==================  
a few weeks later  
==================

 

Dean and Cas began the habit of sitting on the top of the bunker stairs after dinner and watching the stars come out. Sometimes Sam joined them. Sometimes he sat near them, but on his own. Everyone wanted to soak up the night sky while they could.

The first time Dean and Cas sat outside to look at the stars, a long-haired black tomcat wandered over. He made a beeline for Castiel’s lap, and purred ecstatically. They tried to bring him into the bunker but every time they neared the door, he’d growl and hiss and jump out of Castiel’s arms, disappearing in the black night. They put out food and water for him every morning at the top of the stairs, and it was gone every night. Some nights when they came up, the cat was waiting for them, always ready to jump in Castiel’s lap.

Dean commented “He obviously likes you and doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Shouldn’t we give him a name?”

Castiel replied “Let’s just call him Cat.”

“Ok, but why?” Dean asked.

Cas paused. “He might not stay.” He patted the cat, whose purrs raised a notch in response. “We shouldn’t get too attached.”

Dean wondered why a cat would pass up free meal every night, but didn’t say anything. He understood what Cas had really meant.

One night when Sam came out for air, he looked up, and hovered next to Dean and Cas. They both invited him to sit with them. He sat next to Cas, as the stairs were not very wide, and Dean was taking up the other side. As they watched the sky, it was clear that something was very different.

Sam pointed out that the meteor, which had been increasingly visible for a few nights, was suddenly way too large and way too close.

“Yeah, it’s been doing that for days now,” said Dean.

“I know,” Sam replied. “I just didn’t expect it to change so drastically, so soon. It’s gotten so much bigger. It’s taking up almost the entire sky.”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, reaching over Castiel to touch his brother’s hand.

“Cas,” Sam asked, although he knew the answer. “Is that what I think it is?”

“It’s a meteorological event,” Cas replied.

“Yeah, we got that,” said Dean.

“What kind of meteorological event?” asked Sam. “Like the kind that killed off the dinosaurs?”

“Something like that,” Cas said.

“How close to something like that?” asked Sam.

“Quite close,” answered Cas, “and yet completely different.”

The three of them sat in silence, watching the meteor take up more and more of the sky.

“I still don’t get why they want to do this,” said Dean. “It’s like the apocalypse all over again.”

“It’s much bigger than that,” Cas said. “The apocalypse was intended to cleanse the earth. The angels want to completely annihilate the planet. Apparently humans are flawed beyond redemption. If Father is still alive, perhaps he’ll start again from scratch. If not, angels will have one less planet to worry about.”

“Angels look after more than one planet?” Dean asked. “How many?

“Just the ones in this galaxy,” replied Castiel.

“What will happen to the moon?” asked Sam.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. You are witnessing the end of a planet. Please show some respect.”

The brothers were silent as the meteor came closer.

“So you’d be safe in Heaven?” Dean couldn’t help asking Cas.

“We’ve discussed this already,” Cas replied.

“Then why the hell are you here with us?” asked Dean. “Fly back to Heaven, you idiot angel,” he said, breaking down into tears.

“No,” Castiel responded.

“Why not?” Dean asked, crying.

“We’ve talked about this so many times, Dean,” said Cas, patiently. “You would be gone. Sam would be gone. Everything I care about would be gone. Even Cat would be gone.”

Suddenly the meteor broke through atmosphere, leaving a trail of colored light and fireballs in the sky.

“Man,” said Dean. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Yes, it is very beautiful,” Cas replied. “I can answer your question about time, now. Less than a minute remains.”

Cas opened his wings and spread them, one around each brother. He reached up to kiss Sam chastely, on the lips. Then he pulled Dean into a long, deep kiss. He finally pulled away when the meteorite lit up the entire sky with an eerie glow.

Cas tilted his head one last time and looked up. Cat tried to hide in his lap, trembling.

“Goodbye, Cat,” said Cas. “Goodbye, Sam.” Cas took Dean’s hand and held it fast. “Goodbye, Dean,” he said. “It’s been an honor to

 

The End


End file.
